Oh yeah yeah yeah you right, it was the end of a perfect
weekend. There was plenty of food for the “orphan” Thanksgiving and no one that
I know of died from the turkey despite Boner Lisa’s fears, I slept in until 7:00 a.m. three days in a row, and the weather was gaw-geous. Sunday promised to be a
great day to be alive and go hashin’.

Boy was I fucking wrong on one of the counts. Running late
because I waited until the last possible minute to tear myself away from a
house project and bombing down Williams cursing the bitch dumbass in front of
me going 15 mph, I finally arrived in the Treasure Chest vicinity. I look in
the right-hand parking lot: nobody. I look to the back parking lot toward the
water: nobody. Now cursing my tardiness, I was about to say “fuck all” and
drive straight to Loveland St. when like a mirage I saw dozens of hashers and
quite a few pooches (dogs, not beer bellies) still milling about. They were
hidden on my first approach by some bushes. Okay, so everything’s good to go,
and after the chalk talk in which we were told to make note that “Beer Near”
and “Beer Very Near” are two different animals, about five hashers took off.
This confused the pack because we thought there were five hares, but no, PC and
ODR informed us it was a dead trail. Masters of understatement they are.

At this point I’d like to interject that I skipped a morning
r*nning workout, thinking that even though hashing isn’t official training,
it’s better than doing nothing at all. As it turned out, the trail was MORE THAN
THE WORKOUT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE. At the end of a gourmandish weekend, where was
the fucking love??? Where had my “walking club with an eating problem” gone
when I needed it the most???

For the first few miles, evidently down the levee toward
downtown. I think the marks switched sides once to add topography. As Knave and
I crossed the bridge at the pumping station, we spotted Jiggles Low’s woman
walking her dog. She asked what we were doing, which right there folks is an
instant down-down for her the next time she bothers to show up. So past the
pumping station we finally come to a check that took us to the neighborhood.
Grand, so we meander some looking at early holiday décor, when BAM we’re back
on the levee. Somewhere in Lakeview marks took us back to the neighborhood,
where Knave and I parted ways at a check. I dallied for a bit looking for marks
until I found some going away from the levee on Academy St. As I peeked through
the fence, I was running alongside a canal and then I emerged onto a cross street,
crossed over the canal, and then ran back on the opposite bank I’d just been
looking at. Fabulous, as were the perfectly evenly-spaced marks on the curb,
approximately seven car lengths at a bitch dumbass pace of 15 mph.

After about an hour of these doldrums, I finally came across
a “BN” mark, and grateful because I was exceedingly thirsty, I turned the
corner fully expecting to see a truck or a group of walkers and a “BVN” at my
feet. But no. I ran along the canal for a while, and then turned down another
street, and then ran along another canal, and then turned down another street
and came upon a check at the corner. I was everything good and kind because
after following not one but TWO falses, I marked the check for those coming
behind me. After about another half hour, I found the BVN, and I was grateful,
because I was exceedingly thirsty. I turned the corner fully expecting to see a
truck or a group of walkers drinking. But no. I ran on the street for a while,
and then turned down another street, and then ran along another street, and
Just Mike, G-String and Butt Gravy were coming up behind me. Finally we hit
whatever is the closest street parallel to the levee, heading toward Power.
This has got to be it, I muttered, because I seriously can’t go any farther.
And then I saw Knave and Penis Colada and On Da Rag and Beer Fart under the
power lines. And I was grateful, because I was exceedingly thirsty. So I
proceeded to give the hares a right bitching for laying a trail based on a
planetary and not human scale, even though it was exceedingly well marked.
Eventually Just Mike, BG, G-String, Ass Grabber, Letter Licker, IHOV, Daddy’s
Dick and others trickled in and we all made nice for the camera.

Knave and I took off for the on-in, which was the parking lot,
which was still a mile away. After that everyone headed to Chez Rag, where
Light Days was already in the kitchen like a good woman making sure everything
was in order with Penis Colada’s sausage/bean concoction, because he had to go
to Amite to drop off another woman he found over the weekend. When PC returned,
he and ODR were treated to a peanut-butter-and-honey down-down, I guess for
bragging about their sandwich skillz their last trail. We didn’t get any, no
matter, I like crunchy. We did however partake of several holiday leftovers
brought by other hashers, including jello shots and cookies courtesy of Sucks ‘Em
Raw and Chex Mix made by Mama Knave. Hares drank for having a boring trail. Baton
Rouge visitors Bug Fucker and Crotch Critter drank. Probing Sex Knave got his
200+ run award made by Father Scumbag. Somewhere along mile 18 we lost Gay
Beret, who would have been a six-week wanker extraordinaire had he stayed.
There were a surprising number of racing shirts, so they drank, although one
hasher who shall remain nameless refused twice to get into the circle because
they “didn’t feel like it.” Uh huh.

Things I’m thankful for:

That there weren’t arrows pointing into the lake, because
all the arrows were true (as it should be)

That there wasn’t a “BVVN” mark

That there is another Father Scumbag award to proudly
display

That Penis Colada makes kick-ass potato salad and that On Da
Rag and Light Days opened up their home to us

That regardless of how sucky a trail may or may not turn out,
there is a hash every week!